


kneeling

by jaimelanniser



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 13:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12014073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimelanniser/pseuds/jaimelanniser
Summary: in which ygritte never died and jon is named king in the north





	kneeling

“Don’t expect me to start calling you  _Your Grace_  now,” a voice piped up from behind him, and Jon turned around to face her where she was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded over her chest. “You’re still some crow to me.”  


“Some crow?” he challenged her. The furs felt heavy on his shoulders with the added weight of having been crowned King in the North by the northmen. It was a responsibility he didn’t ask for, but one he couldn’t and wouldn’t take lightly. Ygritte’s humour was a welcome relief.  


She grinned at him, “Aye.” Then she walked into the room and kicked the door shut behind her, walking over to him. “We’ll follow you, Jon Snow, but us free folk don’t kneel. No matter what your southerners say.”

Jon shook his head in amusement; it was always strange to hear her call the northmen ‘southerners’. Everything south of the Wall was the south to her. Little did she know they were at the top of the world as everyone knew it. There was so much of the world that she didn’t know; of maps and cities and rivers and valleys; of kings and queens and conquerors and dragons. And still, Ygritte claimed to be in blissful ignorance. 

_‘What’s the past matter now? It’s the living that are important. Don’t tell me tales of things long dead. You know nothing, Jon Snow,’_  she would say, in her wildling accent, and Jon would smile, because he knew some things she didn’t know.

“Why are you here, then?” he asked her, turning his body to where she’d walked up to his desk, picking up a few letters and squinting at the ink before tossing them back down. He forgot, sometimes, that she couldn’t read.  


“Are you tossing me out of your fancy lord room?” Ygritte raised her eyebrows at him, bringing her hands up to the wolf furs across his shoulders, burying her hands into it. “Is King Snow too fancy for little old me now?”  


Jon watched her, in awe; she carried herself like she was the queen of her own world. He envied her sureness; admired her certainty. And she was fierce and beautiful, in a way that Sansa, as lovely as she was and as much as he loved her, would never be. Not even if they shared hair the colour of fire.

Sansa’s was a quiet passion. Ygritte’s burned bright.

He shook his head. “I’d never ask you to kneel,” he affirmed what she already knew, what he’d already told her.

Ygritte flashed her wolfish grin at him again. “That’s alright,” she shrugged, leaning up to kiss him, her lips tugging at his own before she tore them back. “I don’t mind kneeling for you, Jon Snow.”

And with deft fingers, she unlaced his breeches and sunk down onto the floor, and all thoughts of kings and the North and battles to be fought and enemies to be destroyed were gone from his mind.


End file.
